Greener
by aliasfluffyone
Summary: Joshua Smith once worked for an archeologist, searching for giant redheaded Indians. Should they have been looking for tricky little men? There aren't any leprechauns in Wyoming. Right? Happy Saint Patrick's Day. Trying for Amnesty Days c March 1886 One shot.
Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Greener

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"I haven't seen him."

"What?" demanded Kid. "Joshua left Thunder Ridge at first light this morning."

Lom Trevors looked up at the lean man standing in front of his desk. At thirty-two Jedidiah Curry still appeared younger than his years, but now his blue eyes were creased with worry lines. Kid's gaze was on the window behind Lom's desk, or more specifically, on the swirling snow dancing through the streets of Porterville.

"You didn't ride together?"

"No, Joshua wanted to see you first, ask you if you'd heard anything from our mutual friend."

The former outlaw shrugged. The sheriff winced, but Lom noted Kid's voice held no hint of recrimination. Six years ago, Lom brokered the partner's first deal with Governor Hoyt. A parade of politicians, Hoyt, Hale, Morgan and now the new Governor, Warren, dangled promises of amnesty before the two most successful outlaws in the west, but never delivered. Lom's friends kept their part of the bargain. Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes stayed out of trouble. Mostly. At least, they stayed out of trouble when they didn't have any _special_ jobs to do for the governor.

"I stayed to board up the windows and lock up the cabin before leaving."

Lom gave a wry smile at the domestic image. The wily old reprobate Clarence Jones deeded his cabin in Thunder Ridge to his _nephew_ Thaddeus Jones. At Lom's urging, the partners paid taxes and wintered in the secluded town northeast of Porterville. The deal with the tax collectors seemed to be working better than the deal with the Governors. Each year winter since, the sheriff's friends arrived a little earlier in the fall and stayed a little longer in Thunder Ridge. Kid removed his brown hat and raked a hand through his blond curls in exasperation.

"I couldn't have been more than an hour behind him," grumbled Kid. "We always have trouble when we separate…"

"Thaddeus, usually Joshua's looking for you," interrupted Lom.

"Well this time, I'm lookin' for him," retorted Kid. "His horse isn't in the livery and you say you haven't seen him. Joshua should be here already."

"Are you asking me to get a posse to go looking for your partner?"

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"That's his horse," agreed Kid.

Lom smiled, glad that his suggestion to check the new barn behind the saloon had solved the problem of the missing horse. Now to find the missing man. The big lawman pulled the brim of his hat lower to keep his ears warm. Kid glanced back over the collar of his sheepskin coat. Through the barn door, noisy music could be heard coming from the rear of the saloon.

"When did the _Last Chance Saloon_ get to be so big it needed its own stable?"

"About the time I needed to hire an extra deputy."

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"Ante up!"

Kid's head turned in the direction of the familiar voice. The lawman stomped snow from his boots as the heavy wooden front door thudded shut behind them.

"Now what's he doing here?"

"Whattdya think?"

The sturdy blond swept off his brown hat and strode through the saloon in search of his partner. Lom rolled his eyes and followed his friend past the player piano to a green felted poker table in the rear of the room.

"Thaddeus," greeted Heyes. A bright smile spread across his face. "Lom. You're just in time."

"Time for what?"

Kid's tone could have curdled milk. Heyes waved a graceful hand to the men circled around the poker table coming to a stop with a gesture to the last two empty seats.

"Time to play."

Heyes rapped the side of the deck against the table to emphasize his words. The little man seated to his left clenched uneven teeth around the stem of his pipe. Aromatic smoke wafted upwards and disappeared beneath the exposed oak beams. Lom shook his head, but Kid simply hung his hat from the hook on the wall, pulled out the chair beside Heyes and sat down. Blond curls pressed against the wall behind him as Kid leaned back in his chair.

"Joshua, I've been looking all over for you," grumbled Kid.

"You found me," grinned Heyes. Mischievous eyes twinkled. "I knew you would."

"I've gotta…" Lom began to object.

"Sit down," insisted both Kid and Heyes.

Trevors started to object again, but Kid brought the legs of his chair down with a sharp thump. He leaned forward and pulled out the empty chair beside him.

"You left Wilkins in charge and you're off for the rest of the night," reminded Kid. "Since you helped me find my partner, the least you can do is let me buy you a drink."

"It's been a while since we've had the chance to play poker together," chimed in Heyes. He gestured to the two players seated beyond the pipe smoker. "And I'm sure you'd enjoy the opportunity to play against some of Porterville's leading citizens."

"Come on Lom," urged Banker Porter. "We need more players. Six is barely enough to make the game interesting."

The portly man seated beside the pipe smoker looked nothing like his slim, elegant daughter. He sniffed, his great bulbous nose bobbing up and down with the motion.

"Porterville hasn't gotten so lawless that its sheriff can't have an evening off," added retired Judge Baxter. The elderly white haired man smiled. "Has it?"

Lom snorted. The graying hair at his temples showed as he pushed his hat back upon his head. He rested one hand on the back of the chair Kid had pulled out for him.

"Since I've got everyone I need to keep an eye on right here at the table, I guess I'll manage."

The banker and the judge roared with laughter at Lom's joke. Kid and Heyes laughed too, but not quite so loudly, as Lom sat down between Kid and the judge. The lawman found himself seated directly across from the little man at Heyes' left. A pair of sparkling green eyes gleamed at him, but the little man wasn't laughing at all.

"Have we met?"

"Oh no Sheriff," smiled the stranger. He pushed back the green bowler on his head, revealing wild red curls. He introduced himself. "Patrick O'Shea, came down from the mountains north of here to pick up supplies and have a little fun before I go back home."

Before Lom could ask any more questions, Heyes repeated his earlier call.

"Ante up."

One by one, the clink of coins sounded as the men added their coins to the pot. Cards flew across the table. Lom picked up his cards. The lawman narrowed his eyes, but he wasn't concentrating on the cards in front of him. A three of diamonds, four of spades, nine of clubs, jack of hearts and an ace of diamonds was hardly an auspicious start to a game of chance. Lom watched O'Shea, and wondered. He hadn't heard of any homesteads north of Porterville. Who was Patrick O'Shea?

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"Two bits," declared Banker Porter four hands later.

One pudgy finger pushed a quarter from his dwindling pile of coins into the middle of the table. The banker reached past the uneaten sandwich on the plate beside him and picked up a shot glass. He gulped the last of his whisky.

"Hmm," frowned Heyes. He pursed his lips thoughtfully as he responded to the older man's question. "Well Judge, I guess the strangest job I ever had was when I hired out as a guide to an archeologist."

"Call your two bits Porter and raise another two bits," responded the judge. He picked up two silver coins and tossed them into the growing pot. "What was strange about working as a guide?"

"Call."

Lom matched the judge's bid. Kid folded his cards, placed them face down on the table and shook his head, while Heyes answered the judge.

"They were searching for a tribe of giant redheaded Indians."

The dark haired man glanced at his cards as if they weren't nearly as interesting as the conversation, but then Heyes threw a silver dollar into the center of the table.

"Call and raise."

"Hmmm," O'Shea hesitated.

The little man held his cards close to his face and peered over the top of them as if counting the pot of silver and gold coins.

"Giants?" snorted Banker Porter. "They'd of had better luck if they looked for the little people."

"Huh?"

Lom's eyebrows went up at the surprised sound from both Heyes and O'Shea. Beside him, Kid caught the attention of the waitress. A soft murmur, Kid handed the woman a bank note from his winnings before picking up the last of his sandwiches.

"The Shoshone tell stories of a warrior race of little people with poison arrows called the Nimerigar," asserted Banker Porter.

O'Shea added to the pot with a low murmur. Banker Porter frowned at his cards and continued speaking as he too added to the pot.

"Lots of folks have stories about little people, pixies, sprites…"

"Don't forget leprechauns," grumbled O'Shea. "People are always telling me about leprechauns."

"And the Comanche's have stories about little people called Nunumbi," agreed Judge Baxter with a mild smile. He too matched Heyes bid. "Of course I don't think they're quite as bloodthirsty as the Nimerigar."

"Did anybody ever find these little folks you're talking about?" asked Heyes.

A negative response was determined as heads shook along with wry murmurs.

"Because we did find bones of someone who was at least seven feet tall," concluded Heyes. "And there was something in the ground that colored his hair and wood around him red."

Lom perused his cards once more. He'd won the first hand, O'Shea the second hand. Kid's last hand, three queens over two kings, had been the highest winning hand so far this evening. Lom's own cards were good this hand, but he had a feeling from Heyes' studied air of indifference to his cards, that his friend might have something better. The waitress arrived just then and settled a bottle of Jameson's and some shot glasses between Kid and himself. As she turned to leave, her faceted pendant caught the light. For a moment, a ray of light shone like a rainbow onto the accumulated coins centered in the green table. As she moved away, the colored light flashed across Heyes' face. His dark eyes blinked at the brightness. Beside him, O'Shea looked surprised.

"Fold."

Lom smiled and shook his head. He'd learned to trust his instincts long ago. One by one, Heyes, O'Shea, Porter and Baxter turned over their cards. As Heyes began to rake the treasure towards him, the judge and the banker moved to stand up and make their goodbyes. O'Shea pushed back his chair as well. He stood barely five feet high. Kid pointed towards the bottle and small glasses.

"Don't you want to have a drink?" Kid offered. "To celebrate the day?"

The judge and the banker shook their heads. With promises of another time, the two older men walked out of the saloon. O'Shea eyed Kid, Heyes and Lom.

"Ye celebrate Saint Patrick's day, do you?" challenged O'Shea. For the first time this evening, his brogue was readily evident. "Ye dinna sound Irish."

Lom didn't miss the glance Kid and Heyes exchanged. The astute lawman realized there was something his friends weren't telling. Lom had never pried into his friends' earlier life, but with the name Curry, Lom figured Kid had someone Irish in his family tree.

"Grampa was Irish." Kid's soft voice answered. He poured four shots. "I'm from Kansas."

"My maternal grandfather was Irish too," added Heyes.

Something in the way Heyes said that sounded off, realized Lom, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why. Heyes had a gift for telling the most outrageous lies as if they were God's own truth, but this simple sentence didn't quite roll off the silver tongue smoothly. Lom didn't think Heyes was lying exactly, but there was something more that Heyes wasn't telling. O'Shea's eyes narrowed, almost as if he too could sense the omission in Heyes' words. Lom tried to distract O'Shea.

"My grandmother Maureen emigrated from County Clare when she was but twelve years old," volunteered Lom.

Three faces turned to the lawman in surprise.

"You're all Irish?" exclaimed O'Shea.

Three smiles answered yes. The diminutive man flashed a cocky grin and raised his glass high.

"Happy Saint Patrick's day!"

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End file.
